


Summons

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-06 19:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10343469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: What if Daniel had left after all at the end of Forever in a Day?Spoilers: FIAD, minor for Stargate the movie and Children o/t Gods





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Summons

##  Summons 

##### Written by Rather   
Comments? Forward comments to yumafanfic@aol.com 

  


Daniel Jackson closed his eyes as he stretched tired muscles all over his body. The sun blasted down on his upturned face as drifting sand blew all around him. The sand had become his only companion. The first months he’d been here he’d felt heavy, sluggish, stunned, like he was filled with sand. Gradually, he’d felt the relentless wind-driven sand scour and empty him. There was no more grief. No more longing for his friends. No more anger at Teal’c. The aching, infinity of the hole in him that was Sha’re had never gone away, it just finally ceased to matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing. Some days it was hard to believe his time at SGC had ever really happened - it seemed like a half-remembered story from childhood. Certainly he knew this emotionless, quiet loner bore no resemblance to the driven, passionate man who had laughed and loved and was no more. He felt mummified; like all his organs, his brain, heart - his soul - had been removed, left at the base of the stargate like some pagan offering. He knew but he did not care, as he went about doing the menial task assigned him of sifting endless pans of sand and cataloguing the meager findings of this insignificant dig at the end of the world. Some nights he sat at the base of the tomb, sand piling up, driven by that relentless wind, halfway to his pulled-up knees. One night, he promised himself, he would allow the sand to bury him completely. This promise got him through each day.

A tentative voice interrupted his thoughts. "Dr. Jackson, could you look at this? Is it important?"

Jackson slowly blinked his way back to awareness and held out his hand for the proffered remnant of pottery. Without even looking toward the young assistant he shook his head. "Just a rock," he said softly. "Just a goddam rock."

"Sir?" asked the student, confused.

Jackson walked away before the other could see the sudden tears in his eyes.

Much later Jackson would wonder if those words of his had somehow served as some sort of spell, a summons to pull Jack to him. To set into motion the chain of events which reclaimed his life. Absurd, he knew. Of course. 

**********************************************************************

He did not join the curious in the camp who went to see the unexpected visitor, arriving just past dusk in a helicopter. He paid no attention to the blur of voices outside his tent, and ignored the muffled knock. The opening was pulled aside, and a voice from the past spoke his name. Jack O’Neill came inside and let the flap fall back into place. Jackson said nothing, but the two men studied each other. O’Neill skipped the conversation they must have and got to the point. "Daniel. You have to come back. Sam’s gone. Teal’c is hurt. We can’t get the stargate to work. There’s a message - nobody can translate it. Please, Danny." His voice shook slightly. "I need you to help me."

Jackson stared at the floor. The silence stretched so long and so deep O’Neill closed his eyes against the pull of despair. It was too late. Daniel was gone. He’d waited too long to try to bring back his friend. Then on impulse he stepped forward and laid a file on Jackson’s lap, with a photocopy of the mysterious message on top. "Daniel, you’re the only one who can figure this out. Please come home." 

O’Neill felt weak from the sudden release of tension when Daniel shifted his gaze to his lap. _Thank God thank God thank God_ was all his mind could generate. Almost dreamily, Daniel traced one of the glyphs with a finger. Then he stood. He looked O’Neill in the eye again for a long moment, then without a word or backward glance, left the tent and started toward the helicopter. O’Neill scrambled to catch up, confused. As Jackson was climbing into the craft, O’Neill spoke. "Daniel? Don’t you need to tell them you’re leaving? Say goodbye? Pack? Or something?"

Jackson hesitated for the barest fraction, then continued his climb. "I all ready did." 

There was no chance for conversation on the noisy helicopter. O’Neill had been caught off guard by Daniel’s abrupt departure - he had hoped to talk to him before they left to get a fix on his state of mind. Begin re-establishing a relationship with him. But it hadn’t been that long since O’Neill could read Jackson better than anyone, and what he saw shook him badly. The man who had been deep in shock and grief was gone. Replaced by something worse. His friend who was always pacing, waving his hands as he talked, who was always excited about something, instead showed a stillness, an emptiness which made O’Neill genuinely fear for his friend. _Walking dead_ , O’Neill’s mind whispered, and he shuddered. _I should never have let him leave…I should have come after him sooner…Look at him - I’ve never seen such pain…even in myself. How has he survived?_

It took two days to get back to Cheyenne mountain. O’Neill still hadn’t found a way to break through Daniel’s silence. They exchanged a few polite words when necessary, but that was all. Jackson devoted his attention to the file’s contents. O’Neill offered Jackson light snacks and sandwiches every so often, choosing items he thought he could keep down, but apparently air travel was still something that Jackson had considerable trouble with. All offers of food were met with a tight-lipped head shake. He didn’t even want coffee, to Jack’s quiet astonishment. He took periodic sips from a bottle of water, and paced. Up and down the asle of the military craft. He carried the sheet with him and consulted it from time to time. Taped it to the wall. Paced up and down. Took down the sheet, turned it upside down. Paced. Sideways. Paced. Rummaged around, asked Jack for a pad of paper. Soon there were yellow sheets of paper taped all over the interior of the plane, some with a couple, some with a string of hieroglyphics from the photocopied sheet. Sometimes Daniel would grab one of them off the wall, crumple it and toss it in a nearby seat. And replace it with two or three more. Crew members walked past, eyeing the odd display, but no one said a word. Eventually Jackson threw himself into a seat. A leg started bouncing up and down up and down. Then the other. Fingers began drumming the seat rest. O’Neill let himself feel just a bit of hope. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. "Jack." Another shake. "Jack." He gave up and opened his eyes. Daniel was sitting across from him, knee to knee, blue eyes reddened but steady. 

"Daniel, have you gotten any rest at all?" A quick frown and dismissal of an irrelevant question. O’Neill rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Okay. What is it?"

"Tell me what happened. Exactly."

O’Neill sighed and rubbed his face. He would have gotten up for a cup of coffee but he sensed that Jackson was not going to move. He almost felt uncomfortable under the intensity of Jackson’s gaze. "Okay. SG-11 found a weird piece of machinery. Their science guy thought it was maybe some sort of force field generator. They came back and asked for Sam and Teal’c to go back with them to look at it and give their opinion. I stayed behind - Sam had been going on these consulting trips every now and then and it made sense for Teal’c to go, too. We didn’t hear back and didn’t hear back. Just when we were getting ready to send the MALP through for a look, Teal’c came through the gate. He was barely alive. That note -" Jack gestured vaguely toward the mysterious message -"was…attached to him."

Jackson interrupted. "Attached, how, exactly?"

O’Neill grimaced. "He’d been impaled. Through his pouch thing. And the note was stuck on the thing they stabbed him with. His symbiote was badly wounded."

"Was the note face up or down?"

"Up."

"Folded?"

"No."

Jackson frowned. Shook his head. "Okay, then what?"

"Teal’c said they’d been ambushed. Everyone on SG-11 was executed. Carter and Teal’c were taken prisoner. They asked where you were. They were really upset you weren’t there. Beat the two of them up pretty bad, told Teal’c to get this message to you. And they would keep Carter to make you hurry. Then they let Teal’c go. After he came through, the stargate never disengaged no matter what we tried, though we did get the iris up. Somehow they’re keeping it off-line."

"With that machine," murmured Jackson quietly. 

O’Neill raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly. "Could be…so now Teal’c is in some kind of jaffa coma. Frasier doesn’t know if he’ll pull through or not. I left right away to get you. General Hammond has a team of linguists working on the message, but as of the last time I checked with him they have no clue." He raised his hands helplessly. "That isn’t much, I know."

"Who’s the goa’uld?"

"Teal’c passed out before he could tell us." 

Jackson closed his eyes, suddenly sagging. "Hey," said O’Neill gently. "Just lie down a few minutes, okay? We’ll be home in three hours. You need to be sharp. General Hammond has scheduled a briefing for the minute we get there. Though I must say a shower and a change of clothes first would have done us both a world of good." 

Jackson didn’t even seem to hear him. "Danny?" Jack said. He seemed to rouse himself from wherever he’d been. 

"No. I’m fine. I need to keep working on this." 

"No, you need - "

O’Neill was suddenly stopped by the look on Daniel’s face. Fear. Guilt. "I need to get this figured out, Jack. Every day Sam’s being held prisoner is on me." He jammed his thumb into his chest for emphasis.

"No it’s not, Daniel. Don’t start with this, damn it. This wasn’t your fault."

"Don’t bet your life on that, Jack."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Jackson laughed mirthlessly and shook his head. "Nothing."

"Bullshit. What. Did. You. Mean."

"I don’t have time for this. I have work to do."

"There’s a whole team working on this. They’ve probably got it figured out by now."

Jackson shook his head. "No they don’t. And they never will." His voice carried such quiet conviction, O’Neill knew he was right.

****************************************************************************

O’Neill felt it as soon as they stepped into Cheyenne Mountain. A buzz. An almost electric charge in the air. Everyone was looking at Jackson. Their expressions lightened slightly, shoulders squared themselves, they made sidelong comments to companions. Hope had returned. O’Neill glanced back at Jackson. Completely oblivious, he continued riffling through the papers he’d scribbled on, pulling some out and changing the order constantly. He had all ready fallen back to his old habit of slightly trailing Jack, relying on his friend to run interference for him and guide him to where he was supposed to be. He looked up, startled, when he bumped into his escort. "We’re here," said O’Neill, with a slight smile and head shake.

General Hammond was caught in a strong moment of deja vu when he saw Jackson walk into his office, hair hanging in his eyes, wearing dusty, well-worn desert robes. O’Neill had warned him neither was feeling very fresh, apparently concerned the General would care about their appearance, remembering the day Jackson and the General had met. Hammond smiled to himself. He’d welcome this boy back with open arms if he’d been dragged from a sewer. He moved forward, shook Jackson’s hand warmly, clasped his shoulder. "Welcome back, Dr. Jackson. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Thank you, sir," replied Jackson quietly, "me, too." 

O’Neill waited for a beat, then asked, "Anything new, sir?" 

Hammond frowned and shook his head. "The gate is still off-line. That team has a theory, though, and is hoping to test it soon. No word of Major Carter, of course. Dr. Frasier believes Teal’c is stable, but he’s still comatose. And the linguistics team is in the conference room, is ready to report on their progress. Shall we join them?" 

After introductions, Hammond and O’Neill sat down. Jackson laid down his sheaf of papers, but paced around restlessly, arms crossed, head down. Dr. Jay Michaels, after receiving a nod from General Hammond, began outlining the efforts to translate the message. He’d barely begun when Jackson waved a hand impatiently. "Please, Dr. Michaels. Just…can you skip all that? Where are you now?"

Michaels, obviously not used to being interrupted, flushed a little and tried to regroup. "Well, we feel we’re making solid progress, and though admittedly we are still trying to get a fix on the derivation, in time we believe - " 

Everyone jumped when Jackson slammed his hand down on the table. He took a deep breath, released it very slowly, then spoke precisely, deliberately. "This is not a grant report, ladies and gentlemen. Save the smoke for someone else. I have _got_ to know what you _really_ think. _Please._ "

They all exchanged shocked glances. Now nobody wanted to speak and draw attention to themselves. Dr. Michaels was simply appalled by this scruffy looking, rude, know-it-all youngster and wasn’t about to say another word. Finally, when O’Neill was about to suggest the General leave so O’Neill could beat it out of them, Melinda Jordan screwed up her courage. There was just something…refreshingly honest about Jackson that made her want to help him. Still, these were her colleagues and her superiors. She still had a career to protect. "Understand this is only my opinion. I am not speaking for anyone else. But I think it’s got to be an unknown language. The symbols are familiar, but the arrangements are gibberish. It must have been developed by a race that had the symbols but didn’t know what they meant. I - I…don’t think we’ll ever figure out the meaning unless we have more to work with." 

Jackson stared hard at her, then his expression softened. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate your honesty, Ms. Jordan." His gaze swept around the table, stopping on each person. "What do the rest of you think?" 

Dr. Benson shifted in her seat. "I think Ms. Jordan may have been a little pessimistic. I think we’ll be able to figure out the basic meaning." The rest agreed with Dr. Benson, including Dr. Michaels, who had recovered enough to offer his opinion. 

When everyone had spoken, Jackson nodded slowly, gathered up his papers and started to leave the room. "Dr. Jackson?" called a startled General Hammond. Jackson pulled up short, halfway out the door, and gave the General a puzzled look. "Dr. Jackson, surely there’s more to discuss. We haven’t been here ten minutes!"

Jackson shook his head. "There’s nothing here for me. It’s not some mysterious language." His eyes flicked briefly over the team of linguists. "It’s a code." And he was gone. 

Jack caught up with him almost immediately. His friend was just down the corridor, slumped against the wall, rubbing his face with hands that trembled. O’Neill put a hand on his shoulder. "You all right?"

Jackson shook his head. Looked at O’Neill with a bleak expression. "Jack, I was counting on those people. I needed some sort of direction because I have no fucking clue with this thing. And they hadn’t even gotten that it’s a code. I - I just - "

"You just need to take a step back here for a minute, Daniel. You’re going to take a shower, get something to eat, and then you are taking a nap."

"Is that right?" asked Jackson, bemused. "And how’s that? Let’s see. I have nowhere to work, no clean clothes, no place to sleep, no toothbrush…"

O’Neill clapped him on the shoulder he had his hand on. "Sure you do. I made some phone calls. Got your old office back. Even that overworked coffeepot."

Jackson’s face brightened suddenly. "Well then let’s go!"

O’Neill had been afraid that Jackson would refuse to leave the office once he’d gotten there. So he stayed with the man as he sat at the desk, fussing over his papers, entering data into the computer. When he realized his suspicions were going to be correct, he called to his friend. "Daniel. Shower. Food. Now."

Jackson waved a hand at him, nodding. "Yeah. You go ahead. I’ll be there -"

his voice trailed off and O’Neill doubted he even knew it. He reached over and clicked off the lights. "Hey!" Jackson protested. 

O’Neill turned the lights back on. When Jackson squinted at him, O’Neill said, "If you collapse, Daniel, you’ll go to the infirmary. If you go to the infirmary, they won’t let you work on this. If you don’t work on this, Sam stays missing. I don’t want Sam to stay missing, and neither do you. It is therefore apparently my job to keep you out of the infirmary. So you have to trust me. Do you trust me?" As expected, Daniel’s head bobbed up and down. "Good. Then if I tell you to take a break you damned well better do it. And I’m telling you to take a break. Now."

Jackson looked longingly at his pile of papers, then sighed and pushed his chair back. He wasn’t on his feet completely before his knees buckled. O’Neill grabbed him around the chest and held him up until the dizziness and trembling passed and Jackson could stand up straight. "This was your one freebie, pal," warned O’Neill. Jackson nodded again. 

The towel hung loosely around Jackson’s waist as he peered into the mirror, shaving. O’Neill was surprised to see him without a robe; normally the shy archaeologist would never be padding around the locker room like this. His perception that his thoughts were far away was confirmed when Jackson frowned at the mirror, whispered something, and drew a symbol on the fogged up mirror with his finger. He stared at it, and water dripped slowly, for a long, long moment. Then he jumped slightly when a door slammed somewhere. He shook his head, scrubbed out the symbol and started shaving again. O’Neill ran his eyes over his friend’s body, frowning himself. Always thin, he was at least 20 pounds lighter than he had been before. And he’d lost some of the muscle mass they’d worked so hard to put on him. There was no margin here; Jackson didn’t need to miss a single meal.

Later, as they sat in the cafeteria, he was surprised at how many people came up to greet Jackson and welcome him back to the base. There were even a few, like Colonel Makepeace, who he knew came away from tasks in other areas of the base just to say hello. 

***********************************************************************

O’Neill hesitated as he opened the door to Jackson’s office, wondering if he should’ve brought a sidearm and a couple of marines. The dreadful…sound coming from the room, coupled with the pitch black interior, made him wonder if someone was being slowly murdered. Then he remembered from long ago, Kawalsky’s description of those days spent as Jackson figured out the mystery of the stargate. The strange music turned up full blast, the candy bar and caffeine diet, how he would turn out the lights and just zone out for hours at a time, not sleeping, not moving, just…thinking. O’Neill hoped lightning would strike again. "Daniel!" he yelled. No response. He walked over to the desk. Incredibly, Jackson was sound asleep, head on the desk, right on top of an assortment of pens, tape, wadded up sheets of paper, and a picked-at sandwich.

O’Neill walked over to the stereo and turned it off, heaving a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, the abrupt cessation of sound woke Jackson. He sat up, blinking. "Mmmmmph. Umm. Jack? Wha’s going on?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep," said O’Neill, kicking himself mentally. But it was too late. Jackson was yawning, rubbing his eyes, and reaching for his glasses. 

"What time is it?" he mumbled. "Could you turn the lights on?"

"4:30. P.M."

"Oh, crap," mumbled Jackson. "Didn’t mean to fall asleep."

"You needed it."

"What’s going on?" Jackson repeated.

"General Hammond wants an update."

Jackson nodded and reluctantly started to get up. "No - whoa - stay there. I’m supposed to talk to you and update him myself. He said he didn’t want to distract you with a briefing right now." Jackson stopped halfway to his feet, then flopped back down into his chair. He laid his head back, staring at the ceiling, arms hanging limp, straight down. 

O’Neill followed his gaze upward. He wasn’t really surprised to see more pieces of paper taped up there. Every surface in the room was covered with them, tables, the door, of course the walls - even the sink spigot. "I don’t have it yet. I think - I’m close. I just can’t get the last piece." He waved around the room. "I need more room, I think. I just can’t get the right combination with the right translation. I think it’s linked to something -" his voice trailed off in frustration. "I just don’t have the words to explain. In any language." He started slowly swiveling the chair back and forth. O’Neill watched him, wondering what the hell he was going to tell Hammond. The general had reminded him, again, how important it was to keep Jackson functioning. They had to get this resolved - soon. The President himself had called a few hours ago. Again. But O’Neill was having a hard time figuring out whether this could be considered "functioning" or not. 

"Look," he finally said. "I have to go talk to General Hammond. When I get back, it’s going to be time for a break, okay?"

Some time later, Jackson said, "I need to talk to Teal’c." When Jack didn’t respond, he looked around, surprised that O’Neill had left. Shrugging mentally, he jumped to his feet. The room spun, his knees buckled. This time there was no one to catch him as he fell, but, he thought woozily, that meant no witnesses, either. _Ha, ha, Jack…that’s an extra freebie._ He finally sat up, carefully, pulled his knees to his chest, rested his head on them and concentrated on slow, deep breaths. Then he got back up. Carefully.

Janet Frasier smiled when she saw Jackson come through the infirmary door. She eyed his armful of papers, as well as candles and some strange looking objects which reminded her of Teal’c. She forced herself to keep the smile in place as she noted the tremor in his hands, the too-pale face, and the reddened, exhausted eyes. One time in her life she would let this go, but lord help Colonel Jonathan O’Neill when she saw him next. "Daniel," she said, giving him a cautious hug that would not displace his armful of stuff, "I’m so glad to see you."

"Me, too."

"Can I help you with this?" she asked, gesturing at his load.

"Ummm, no, let me - just put it down - where’s Teal’c?"

She pointed down the hall. "Room Three," she said, puzzled. "But you know he’s -"

"In a coma. Yeah. Ummm. We need to wake him up. I have to talk to him." 

Frasier did not know what to say. She blinked, opened her mouth, and closed it again.

Daniel shifted impatiently. A candle slipped free and fell to the floor, rolling over by Frasier’s feet. "Janet. I have to talk to Teal’c. We have to wake him up. Now." 

"But, Daniel," Frasier spread her hands helplessly.

O’Neill came up behind Jackson. "I like how you waited for me, Daniel. What’s going on?"

Dr. Frasier’s eyes widened with relief. "Colonel O’Neill. I was just explaining to Dr. Jackson that Teal’c is still in a coma. And that it’s okay to visit him, but…"

Jackson was shaking his head. "No. I think that he’ll wake up. He’s been stable now for what? Two days?" Frasier nodded. "He may not be quite ready but I have got to talk to him now. If you give him a stimulant, well, there’s this ceremony thing I can do that should bring him around." 

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" asked O’Neill, stooping to pick up the candle and follow Jackson down the hall, gently closing Frasier’s open mouth with his finger. 

Jackson was well into the room and had put everything down before he saw Teal’c. That first sight released a torrent of memories and feelings that caught Jackson completely unprepared. He froze in midstride. Dr. Frasier started to reach out, but at O’Neill’s quick head shake, pulled her hand back. Thoughts of Sha’re were flooding in faster than he could process them. That last day, the two of them, then Teal’c, the blast from the staff weapon, looking into her eyes as she died…he dropped to his knees, grabbing the bed to keep from going all the way down. _Not now,_ he told himself fiercely. _You are not doing this now._ He squeezed his hands into the side of the bed, relishing the pain the metal edge brought. His breath shuddered in and out, gradually slowing. He took a deep breath and stood up again, vaguely aware of O’Neill’s arm around his shoulders. He felt wetness on his face and wiped it away impatiently. He summoned the emptiness which had become his refuge and his strength, and when he felt it settle securely into place, he stepped away from Jack and to the head of the bed. 

He placed a hand on Teal’c’s shoulder and looked at him for a long moment. Then he turned back to the pile and placed the objects around the room. He lit the candles, placed a bowl on his stomach, directly above his womb, and poured a little oil into it. Then he turned to Dr. Frasier. "I think we’re ready. Could you give him the shot now and turn out the lights?" O’Neill stood against the opposite wall, not looking especially comfortable. "Jack. Could you hold his other hand? He needs to know we’re here. This is just a…wake-up call, sort of. He should respond." Jackson placed one hand on Teal’c’s forehead now, and held his other hand himself. He began chanting softly in a language the others did not know, close to Teal’c’s ear. The candles and the oil gave off a strange but pleasing minty odor. Then Jackson chanted a little louder, rubbed a little oil on Teal’c’s forehead tattoo. His temples. His mouth. Then his hands. Over his heart. His symbiote. Teal’c’s heartrate gradually increased, as did his respirations. 

"My God, it’s working," breathed Dr. Frasier, fascinated. Jackson took Teal’c’s face in his hands and spoke softly and rapidly. O’Neill couldn’t tell if he was chanting or just talking. Then Teal’c took a deep slow breath, let it out, and opened his eyes. He worked his jaw and whispered, "I prayed you would come, Daniel Jackson. Now I will ask your forgiveness one last time and join my forebearers." 

Jackson shook his head. "I didn’t come all this way for you to die, my friend. It is time for you to awaken and once again take your place as warrior among the stars."

His eyes wearily slid past Jackson to O’Neill, who squeezed the hand he was holding. "I am too weak."

"No. You will recover. Teal’c, I must ask you some questions. About what happened. Then you will sleep and grow strong once again."

"Not if you do not forgive me for the death of Sha’re."

"You are forgiven." Teal’c’s eyes opened again, gauging the truth in Jackson’s eyes. Jackson smiled sadly. "Why should I blame you when it was me who went charging into that tent by myself? Teal’c, it took some time. I had to go away and sort things out. But I don’t hold you responsible. For anything." 

Teal’c’s eyes slowly filled with relief. He nodded. "What have you come to ask?"

Jackson straightened back up. Put the cup on the counter. "Jack, Janet, I need to talk to him alone, please."

O’Neill’s eyebrows arched. "Excuuuze me?"

Jackson stopped him with a look. "You heard me," he said quietly. "It’s important." 

As soon as the door was closed, he moved close to Teal’c again. "The child of Apophis and Ammonet. The harseisis. Are the legends true?"

"The child contains all the knowledge of the goa’uld."

"Teal’c. Is it true you would die before giving up information under questioning by a system lord?"

Teal’c nodded. "Capture by rival system lords is always a risk. I received much training. It is unlikely a system lord would even trouble himself with the attempt."

"What about someone like me?"

Teal’c hesitated. "You would never betray your friends." 

"Please. How long?"

Teal’c looked away. "I have known some to resist for a day. None longer."

Jackson closed his eyes briefly. "Okay. Teal’c, I’m going to tell you something that you can’t tell anyone else. I - I don’t think I’ll be coming back after I go to get Sam. They’re going to torture me, and I’m not foolish enough to believe I’m strong enough to resist. So I need you to know this, but you can’t tell anyone else unless you’re about to die, okay? I don’t think this goa’uld would come after you, but they probably would anyone else I told." He took a few breaths. Teal’c watched calmly. 

"I swear it, Daniel Jackson."

"The child is on Kheb."

"Kheb is a myth."

"No, it isn’t. Sha’re told me before she died, that she sent the boy into hiding there. I’ve been looking for this place in ancient scrolls but haven’t found it yet. But I have some ideas." Quickly he outlined the leads he’d gathered. Teal’c nodded from time to time in understanding. "Teal’c, I’m counting on you to search for the child. Let them know you’re looking for him and why, but never tell them the name of the place. Will you do this for me?"

Teal’c reached up and grasped Jackson’s forearm in wordless assurance. "I pray you are wrong and you will return to lead the search yourself. But if you do not, die well, my friend." His eyes slid closed. 

"No, Teal’c - wait. I need to ask you a couple more things." When Teal’c’s eyes reopened, he continued. "What about Sam?" 

"She is badly hurt, but lives. She is being held hostage pending your arrival -" he grimaced in pain. Jackson gripped his shoulder until the spasm passed. "My symbiote is weak. I have little more time."

"Who is the goa’uld?"

"Pakur." Jackson’s eyes widened in recognition and alarm. 

"Oh, super," he whispered. "One more question. What can you tell me about the message? I need help - anything you can tell me about it. What did they say?"

"I am sorry, Daniel Jackson," he whispered, "they told me nothing but that it was a message for you." His eyes closed again.

Jackson sagged against the bed in disappointment, then wearily pushed himself upright. He went around the room, blowing out the candles, gathering up the objects, flipping the small observation light back on.

When he stepped outside, Frasier was the only person there. "Dr. Jackson," she said, "that was amazing. How did you know he’d wake up?"

Jackson shrugged, dismissing it. "Oh, I read about it…somewhere. He’s worn out now, he may sleep for several days. Where’s Jack?"

"He got paged. Apparently they may have figured out a way to fix the stargate and they’re getting ready to try it out." 

"Some sort of reflector beam I bet," Jackson mused, more to himself than to Frasier. "I need to get down there and see if it works." He hurried back into Teal’c’s room, grabbed his ever-present papers and left. 

The scene in the control room was that of controlled satisfaction. The solution the gate team had proposed had worked. An electromagnetic reflector signal had bounced the interfering beam back to P4J237, and the hold on earth’s gate had immediately been released. Now the team was disassembling the makeshift equipment they had attached to the stargate, so it could be tested.

O’Neill eyed Jackson coolly. "Through with our little secret meeting?" His fingers made quotation marks in the air around the word "secret." 

Jackson expected this reaction and refused to let the words bite. "As a matter of fact, yes. What’s happening now?"

"We’re going to test the gate, but General Hammond says we don’t go back to P4J237 until we know what that message says. Was Teal’c able to help you?"

Jackson grimaced. "Unfortunately, no."

"I’m sorry."

Jackson stared at the stargate. Something about it…O’Neill tugged his sleeve. "Come on. Time to eat. And rest. They won’t get that gate cleared for a few hours and I know you’re wiped out."

"I sure am," Jackson admitted softly.

Walking down the corridor toward the cafeteria, Jackson stumbled. O’Neill caught his arm, but papers spilled all over the floor. "Dammit," Jackson muttered, reaching to start picking them up, but then he stopped. And froze. "Oh." He twisted his head, staring at the new alignment of the symbols. "Oh. Oh, God. Of course." A passing airman glanced at them and started to bend down to help pick up papers, but O’Neill hurriedly waved him off. 

"Get down to that other end and don’t let anyone down this hall," he ordered.

By then Jackson was on his knees, shoving papers around on the floor into an inner and outer circle, like the stargate. He moved faster and faster, pawing through the stack, grabbing some sheets and adding them, impatiently flinging others aside. Abruptly he sat back on his heels. Nodded. He grabbed the pad and started whispering to himself and scribbling, sometimes scrubbing out a word, sometimes staring blankly at the wall for long moments. 

O’Neill couldn’t resist the impulse to edge closer and peek over Jackson’s shoulder. He frowned, struggling with Jackson’s hurried scrawl. _Kill the Tau’ri_ kind of jumped out of him. _Knowledge_ and _Location of Har---_ He couldn’t make out that last word. _Fate_ and _Responsibility_. Great, he thought. Some big bad goa’uld threat. They’re gonna come kick our asses. Again. Maybe they should send a video of the last time somebody tried that. 

Jackson quit writing. Threw the pad down the corridor. Then the pen. Scooted over to the wall and slumped against it, staring at nothing. O’Neill knelt in front of him. "Well, are you going to tell me about it?"

After a long silence, Jackson seemed to pull himself back and shrugged. Tried a half-hearted smile. O’Neill wasn’t fooled. The kid was shook up. He reached out, took hold of Jackson’s arm. "Tell me."

Jackson grimaced. "It’s a death sentence."

"For…?"

"Me."

O’Neill took hold of Jackson’s shoulders and squeezed to get his attention, concerned about the listless way he’d said that. "Well, see, that would fall right away into the no-way-in-hell category." No reaction. He frowned suddenly. "Hey," he said, forcing Jackson to look up at him, "this message didn’t surprise you at all, did it?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "In fact, this whole thing hasn’t been a surprise. You’ve been expecting this." The resignation in Jackson’s face confirmed it. O’Neill squared his jaw, suddenly almost equally angry and frightened. "Okay. It’s time we had a little talk." O’Neill jumped to his feet and hauled his friend up after him. 

"Come in," called General Hammond. When O’Neill and Jackson were seated, he said, "The gate should be operational in a couple of hours."

"Good," said O’Neill, "because we’re ready to go get Major Carter. Dr. Jackson has figured out the message."

The relief in Hammond’s eyes was obvious. "Well?"

"You’ll have to ask him," said O’Neill, pointing a thumb towards Jackson. "He wanted to see us both."

"I’m afraid all this is really my fault," Jackson began. "But let me back up a little. You remember that Apophis and Ammonet had a child together." The two men nodded. "This child is something extremely rare, something never supposed to happen. It’s very much against goa’uld rules, because for some reason I don’t entirely understand, this child, known as a harseisis, contains all the knowledge of the goa’ulds."

O’Neill whistled softly. "How did you find this out?"

Jackson dropped his eyes. "Sha’re told me. Just before she died. The child was sent into hiding, because of course, every goa’uld out there wants this child dead. If they knew about it that is. According to the message, there are a few rumors, but no one is taking them seriously. Except for the goa’uld who started this mess. His name is Pakur. He’s really bad, even for a goa’uld. Perennial loser, always trying to find a way to shortcut his way to the top. And now he’s decided that this is the way to do it. He’s being laughed at now, other goa’uld are dismissing the story just because he believes it. And he’d love to be proven correct and rub their faces in it. Anyway. Pakur has decided that I know where this child is."

O’Neill interrupted. "Do you, Daniel?"

The barest flash of something crossed his face and was gone. "Of course not," he replied evenly. "Although I have been doing a some research and know some places he couldn’t be. So Pakur wants to have a little chat with me." O’Neill made a face. "He says if I don’t he will do everything in his power to disrupt gate travel and will send teams out to attack the Tau’ri wherever we go. I think he’s serious and would able to cause quite a bit of trouble. The problem he caused with the gate was just the tip of the iceberg, he said. But he hadn’t expected us to figure out how to get the gate working again, because he’d included instructions on how to send a signal to him from me to deactivate the beam. But my biggest concern is that other system lords may start deciding he’s right."

"Oh, this snake head just needs killing real bad," muttered O’Neill.

"If I go there and can convince Pakur that I don’t know where the child is _and_ I haven’t told anyone else about him, there will be no reason for him to commit his time and resources in attacking us. He’ll be looking for the child. And we’ll buy some time to hopefully find the kid first."

"Why wouldn’t we just go there and blow him away?"

"There’s no guarantee we’d be successful. And if he were to escape, the cat would be out of the bag. If several system lords were to join forces, the child would probably be hunted down in no time. I think you underestimate the value of this child to our long term survival. We could very well defeat the goa’uld once and for all."

"Interesting plan," O’Neill observed slowly, dangerously, "except I’m not sure where it leaves you."

Jackson flushed and studied the front of Hammond’s desk. "I think it’s an acceptable risk. I can save a lot of lives by doing this. It’s worth it to me."

"It’s not worth it to me!" roared O’Neill, leaping to his feet. "Okay? So stop it. You’re _not_ going in there without a parachute." He leaned in close to Jackson. "I know _all_ about suicide missions, remember?"

Jackson yelled right back at him. "Maybe I _want_ to do this. What’s the matter with dying honorably instead of inside a whiskey bottle or at some picked over nothing archaeological dig?" He stood. "I _have_ thought this through. Maybe you should try it. Excuse me, sir." Hammond waved him out the door.

O’Neill spun to face the general. "Sit down, son," Hammond said gently. "I agree with you. I think he forgets that he is our best chance to find the child. So for that reason alone we cannot afford to lose him, much less sacrifice him voluntarily." He paused, waiting for O’Neill to calm down. It took some time, but then Hammond continued. "I must say, Dr. Jackson lies about as poorly as you do. Did you see his face when you asked if he knew where the child is?"

O’Neill nodded. "Why wouldn’t he tell us the truth?"

"To protect us. And he’s right. But it makes sense that if he thinks he’s about to die himself he would have told someone."

O’Neill shook his head. "I don’t know who…" he looked up sharply. "Teal’c. He told Teal’c. Which was a smart choice, because he’d die before he told anyone involuntarily."

They sat in silence a moment, then O’Neill spoke again. "All this time in the desert I thought he was just grieving, I bet he’s been researching. Digging scrolls out of forgotten old library basements. Wearing his eyes out trying to find out wherever this kid is."

"He’s still hurting a lot more than I would have thought."

O’Neill spoke slowly, carefully, like he was testing each word before he spoke. "I see…some similarities - between how I was…and how Daniel is." It was as far as he could go. 

Hammond’s expression softened. "And then your involvement with SGC and Dr. Jackson kind of…reanimated you." O’Neill nodded. The general continued. "Maybe this is a good opportunity, then. Maybe what worked for you…will work for him."

"Well then, just in case, maybe we better try to come with that plan. Maybe someday he’ll thank us," said O’Neill with a sardonic smile.

Jackson rolled over and sighed. Blinked his eyes open. Squinting at the clock, he realized he’d slept, well, lost consciousness for all intents and purposes, for ten hours. It was more sleep than he’d gotten for a long, long time. He lay thinking for a bit. He felt little embarrassed by his outburst in Hammond’s office. He chalked it up to stress and exhaustion and resolved to apologize to Jack as soon as he could. But he recognized the truth behind it. He still really didn’t much care whether he lived or died. But it was clear Jack felt differently. He rubbed his face, feeling torn, wishing he was still in the desert where he didn’t have to try to deal with these conflicting thoughts. On the one hand, he owed Jack his life, many times over. He would never try to hurt him by throwing his own life away needlessly. But he knew he was still a man lost, overwhelmed with the pain of losing his wife. Getting away from SGC had at least made it possible for him to ignore that, shove it away. He blinked up at the ceiling. He needed to fish or cut bait. Live or die, and not jerk his friends around with him as he wrestled. He didn’t want them to have to watch over him, wondering when he would step out in front of a truck. He reached out for his glasses, and touched paper. He peered at a scrawled message which read, _We’ll leave when you wake up. Here’s your gear._

-Jack Oh - you can have some coffee -after- you eat everything on the tray. 

It didn’t feel as strange as he thought it would to strap on the sidearm, the helmet, and all the rest. He stepped outside the room, surprised to find an airman posted there. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"No, sir. Colonel O’Neill wanted to make sure you were undisturbed."

"He posted a _guard_ to watch me _sleep?_ "

"Yes sir. With orders to shoot to kill, sir. Now, however, I’ve been asked to inform you he is waiting for you in the conference room." 

Jackson couldn’t help but notice all the files flipping shut as he came into the room. A wall projection was turned off, too, and Hammond put down the laser pointer he’d evidently been using. "What’s up?" he asked as if he didn’t know. 

O’Neill shrugged with exaggerated casualness. "Oh, you know. Soldier stuff."

"Anything I need to know?" 

"Oh, no," O’Neill drawled slowly. "Two can play this need to know thing, you know."

Hammond interrupted. "Good afternoon, Dr. Jackson. Let’s get ready for this mission, everyone." 

Afterwards, Jackson hurried to catch up with O’Neill. "Jack. Can I talk to you a sec?"

O’Neill eyed him warily. "Sure." He after-you’d Jackson into the small office off the conference room. "What’s up? Get you the wrong size clothes?"

"Hmmmm? Oh, no no. Thank you for…all that, by the way. The guard and everything. No, I just didn’t want to go on this mission without apologizing. For yelling at you in Hammond’s office."

"Daniel, I got to warn you. I have an allergy to my friends having suicidal tendencies. Especially if I’m about to go goa’uld hunting with them."

"I know." He decided to be completely honest. "Jack, I don’t deny that there is still a lot of the time when I am just…completely overwhelmed. Unable to function. Not caring about anything. But I promise you, that while we are on this mission, I will do my best to come home. To not put you at risk by having to worry about me. Okay?"

O’Neill looked intently at him for a long moment, then relaxed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Good enough, because I promise you two things. One, I am not leaving you behind, not matter what, and second, when we get back from this we are going to take the time we should have taken months ago to deal with this. I am going to help you, whether you want it or not. Because I’m not giving up on my best friend. I want him back." 

***********************************************************************

O’Neill balanced Carter’s unconscious body against himself carefully, trying not to hurt her more as he dialed up the coordinates for home. She looked…terrible, like she’d been beaten within an inch of her life, then dumped in a corner and forgotten. And he wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t exactly what had happened. Pakur had looked genuinely confused when he’d demanded her back, so distracted as he was with obvious delight when he and Jackson had been shoved to their knees in front of him. He had actually rubbed his hands together as he circled around Jackson. When Jackson reminded him of the bargain, he absently waved O’Neill away as if he didn’t matter at all. Which was something O’Neill planned to make him seriously regret. As soon as he’d been dismissed, he had collected Carter and hurried to the gate as quickly as he could, refusing to dwell on his worry for Jackson. Pakur had…oozed evil like no other goa’uld he’d met yet. He didn’t want Jackson around him a minute more than he had to be. When the last chevron locked into place, he thought, _Okay - here goes nothing…_

It took a couple of days to work his way back to Jackson. He had slipped into the pyramid during the night and been searching and hiding, searching and hiding, since then. As he pressed into the shadows again, he saw a guard emerge from a room. He thought he heard a muffled groan come from inside, so as soon as the coast was clear he carefully eased his way into the room for a look. O’Neill spotted Jackson crumpled on the floor in a corner. He glanced around the room, weapon raised, noting the furnishings. the…sarcophagus. _Oh no,_ he thought, then hurried to kneel beside his friend, touching him gently on the shoulder. Jackson stirred, pushing a moan past swollen lips. "Nooo," he slurred, blinking open glazed eyes. He shoved against O’Neill, weakly. O’Neill caught his hands and held them. Jackson frowned and shook his head. "Wha’ doin?"

"Daniel. It’s me. We’re getting out of here."

Jackson closed his eyes, "’kay."

O’Neill grasped his shoulder again and shook it a little. "Stay with me." Jackson gasped in pain and tried to pull away. His breath suddenly hitched and gurgled. He coughed out a mouthful of blood and moaned weakly. Jack winced in sympathy. He knew how much it hurt to cough with broken ribs. He gently took hold of Jackson’s head, turned it a little more to the side. "Come on, buddy. Spit all that crap out." Jackson’s eyelids fluttered and opened just a bit. Obediently he spit out just a little more fluid. He moaned again, louder, and tried to wrap his arms around his middle. "Okay. That’s better. Take it easy."

Jackson raised his head for a split second. Let it back down. "Ja’k?" he asked.

"Yeah, buddy. It’s me. We can’t stay here. Let me help you up -"

"Nooo," slurred Jackson. "Can’t…get up. The last - time he…my back - can’t feel legs." 

O’Neill closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead on top of Jackson’s for a moment. Then he pulled himself together and keyed his mike. "This is Camper. I’ve got the Rock. Go."

Jackson was still fuzzy but trying to pull himself towards awareness. "Go? Wha’?"

"We’re launching an attack."

"’tack? Thought…Pakur…winning?"

O’Neill smiled wolfishly. "Oh, did he think so? Good!"

Jackson moaned again. "Ja’k you got…get this guy. You right…he needs killin’. Bad."

O’Neill was eyeing the sarcophagus, obviously torn. "I need to figure out what to do with you first."

"Just leave…me…here"

O’Neill felt a flash of irritation. "We’ve all ready discussed this," he said tightly.

"No - not what…meant. Bait. If you…win fight - he has ship." Jackson pointed up. "But trans…port rings - in here. And me. He -" Jackson shuddered, "he wants…take me. Hide. Ambush the…bastard." His voice had trailed off into a whisper, and his eyes drifted closed. O’Neill thought about this for a moment, then deciding the idea had merit, he slipped his sidearm beneath Jackson, and withdrew to wait in a small connecting room. 

It was a very long and difficult wait. Jackson was suffering and it was hard to watch. Twice jaffa came to check on him and the second time one of them tried to force him to drink something from a small vial. Jackson coughed and choked, spitting blood and the liquid onto the guard. O’Neill couldn’t stop a small growl when the guard slapped him, but managed to stay put. 

Finally, as the sounds of the battle grew louder, Pakur came scurrying into the room, escorted by three jaffa. He pointed at Jackson. "Get him. Then the sarcophagus."

"Oh, I don’t think so," said O’Neill, stepping out of hiding, spraying the room with automatic gunfire. They were caught so unprepared, believing the Tau’ri warriors still outside the pyramid and that the room was empty save for one badly injured man, that only one even was able to get his staff weapon activated. Jackson joined in, emptying

the weapon O’Neill had slipped him, catching the enemy in a deadly crossfire. Pakur didn’t even try to defend himself, cringing and trying to hide behind his jaffa as he went down. "Well _that_ went well," O’Neill said to himself. He stepped over and closed the door, then pulled out a zat gun. He didn’t hesitate as he sent them all to oblivion. He would have given Pakur a few extra shots if he could have. Then he dropped down beside Jackson again.

His friend was dying, he knew immediately. He’d seen this far too many times with too many others. He was trembling, gasping with pain with each reluctant breath, groaning involuntarily. He would never make it home. O’Neill glanced at the sarcophagus, knowing what he had to do. He slipped his arms under Jackson’s body. Jackson shuddered and clutched at O’Neill. "Hurts," he gasped. 

"Hang on a minute," O’Neill responded. Jackson tried to sit up, fell back.

"Wha’s goin’ on?" He tried to look around. "Pak -"

"Pakurmon’s dead," said O’Neill with grim satisfaction.

"Good," breathed Jackson, some of the lines in his face relaxing. Until another spasm hit him. O’Neill knew he had to hurry. He leaned close to Jackson, hoping his friend would hear him.

"Daniel. I have to put you in the sarcophagus. It’s the only way to save you."

Jackson’s eyes flew open in fear. "Noooo, Ja’k." He tried to push his friend away from him. 

"Danny. I have to do this or you’ll die. You’re circling the drain here."

Jackson shook his head. "No, Ja’k. Please…"

"No, Daniel," replied O’Neill firmly. "This time it will help you more than hurt you. Besides, I don’t think Frasier can fix severed spinal cords just yet. Please, Daniel. I can’t just let you die. Not when there’s something we can do."

Jackson made a fist and weakly thumped the floor. "Dammit," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. He closed his eyes a long moment, then opened them and looked hard into O’Neill’s. "What would you do?" he whispered.

O’Neill leaned closer. "I’d do it," he said, reaching out to hold Jackson’s face. "I’d do it for you. And I’d know I could count on you to be there for me to help me afterwards."

A tear traced Jackson’s cheek. "Okay," he agreed. 

Wrestling Jackson’s battered body up and into the waiting device was easier said than done. His legs were limp dead weights, and all contact with his upper body hurt so much O’Neill bit his own lip in sympathy. He was slick with blood, battered and swollen. There was nowhere O’Neill could grip without hurting him. He winced as he felt broken bones under his hands shift and grind. Jackson was struggling not to scream with each shallow breath. O’Neill couldn’t believe he was still alive, much less conscious.

Jackson did all right until he was lowered into the device, but suddenly his face flushed with panic. He rallied one last time. "Jack - I can’t do this - I can’t do the withdrawal again."

O’Neill responded, "I’ve been thinking about that. What if Dr. Frasier can keep you under until it’s over?"

Jackson finally nodded. "That would be…better…maybe." His voice was weakening quickly. O’Neill stayed with him a few more moments, quietly reassuring him as Jackson calmed down. He finally let go of O’Neill’s jacket and laid down completely. 

O’Neill gave him one more pat. "I’ll be right here when you wake up," he said as the panels closed. 

**********************************************************************************

_  
_

As promised, O’Neill was there when the doors slid open and Jackson stepped out, restored. "How do you feel?" he asked solicitously, taking his friend’s arm. Jackson wasn’t sure, it was a combination of ecstasy and shame from the pleasure. He finally gave up and grinned at his friend goofily. "Oh, God, I feel sooooo good," he admitted. 

"Super," replied O’Neill, taking a firmer grip on his arm and delivering the powerful sedative Frasier promised would send Jackson to la-la land, "night, night." Jackson’s eyes rolled back and he dropped like a sack of rocks. O’Neill raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Oh, I have got to get some more of these," he muttered to himself.

O’Neill spent the next week rebounding from briefings to the infirmary, to more briefings, and back to the infirmary. He supervised the completion of the military operation, as well the retrieval team that was thrilled with the bounty they were bringing out of the pyramid. Teal’c was up and around by the time O’Neill returned, pacing like a caged tiger, frustrated at having to be left behind. Carter woke after two days spent rehydrating her, treating a hairline skull fracture and other complications from untended injuries. She would be flat on her back - literally - for some time yet. Daniel was still in the drug-induced deep sleep - Frasier had agreed with O’Neill that it was the compassionate thing to do, so Jack had been there, holding his hand, whispering words of encouragement, wiping his feverish brow as the oblivious Jackson went through the tremors, the fevers, the nightmares of withdrawal. It was of course nowhere near as bad as the first time, but he was still out for most of a week. 

As soon as he was able, a woozy Jackson had wobbled his way to Carter’s side. Her smile lit up the room. "They told me you were here - I’m so glad. I was…afraid you’d leave again." He just smiled and shook his head. 

"You should see your haircut," he teased, indicating some spots where her head had had to be shaved, "you have no room to talk about mine anymore."

She smiled even more. "Don’t make me laugh. Can I borrow some of yours?"

"Sure," he said, "Supposed to get it wacked off this afternoon, actually. Told Jack we should all shave our heads to show solidarity with you. I’m thinking about getting one of those bald head mask things just to scare him."

She couldn’t help the giggle. "That would be _too_ funny." She thought about what he’d said, and her eyes widened. "Are you getting your hair cut because you’re going to stay?"

His face became a little clouded. "I haven’t completely made up my mind. I’m thinking about it."

"We need you back, Daniel. We missed you so much."

"I missed you guys, too. We’ll see."

Once Carter was finally released, the four reunited team members gathered at O’Neill’s house for a "barbecue, catch-up, debriefing, and decompression thing," as O’Neill had put it. They hadn’t had much choice since Jack had brought them all there; Teal’c of course didn’t have a license, Carter hadn’t been cleared yet medically, and Jackson had sold his car long ago. They laughed and visited while the barbecue sizzled, then everybody ate like they were half starved, and as the night chill came closer, they all gathered together in the den as O’Neill built up a big fire.

An unspoken agreement had each of them tell their version of what had happened since the mission to P4J237 had begun. Teal’c and Carter’s were pretty brief. Teal’c’s accounts were always brief anyway, and Carter’s recollections were vague but unpleasant, battling in vain to regain lucidity, meager bowls of water and scraps of food as she lay shivering in the darkness. All eyes were on O’Neill then. "Oh. Guess I must be next," he said. "Okay…well, everybody at SGC started running around working on the gate, the message, and all that. I get to go track down Mr. Desert Rat - which let me tell you was _not_ the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do, and then run around after him for the next few days picking up candy bar wrappers and people he ran over. I hear one of those linguists you took apart is still curled up under a table, by the way." 

Jackson interrupted, laughing, "Oh, Sam, I wish you could have seen Jay Michaels. So full of himself it was coming out his ears. Obviously hadn’t had to do any real work in years and scared to death. But here to do his noble part." Jackson lowered his voice, breaking into such a incredible imitation of Michaels that O’Neill stared, amazed. "Well, since I solved the riddle of the Sphinx I admit there have been few challenges, but if you give me two or three years maybe I can reach my ass to scratch it…" 

Carter burst into laughter, then saw the look on Jack’s face and laughed harder. "Oh, Jack," she said, finally comfortable with the first name thing, off-base at least, especially now that she was a major, "haven’t you heard him do imitations before? You should hear him do you. It almost makes Teal’c laugh."

O’Neill stared at Teal’c. Teal’c raised an eyebrow. "It _is_ a startling and humorous

rendition."

Jackson sobered suddenly. "But that’s when I really got worried. All these experts had no idea at all, and I had been counting on them. I wasn’t at all sure I could figure it out. I would have had an anxiety attack if I hadn’t been so worried about you, Sam."

After a few beats, O’Neill continued. "Anyway - Daniel wakes Teal’c up - you heard about that, right Sam?"

She nodded. "Janet was pretty wound up about it, believe me!"

"Gate gets fixed, but _don’t_ even think of asking for an explanation for that, Daniel has a magic moment right there in the hallway and figures out the message, then off we go to bust Pakur’s chops. Now we have a plan but don’t tell Daniel, because we figure if he don’t know nothing, he can’t tell Pakur. And from the way he’d been acting, we thought Daniel was pretty sure Pakur was going to get anything out of him he wanted. Get to the planet. Escorted to his royal slimeball’s presence. Yada, yada, yada. Well, I tell ya, I was a little scared then." He looked over at Daniel. "This guy was eyeing Danny here like he was first prize in some kind of galactic publisher’s clearing house. He didn’t even remember I was there, just kind of waved me away. So I found Carter and took off. That’s when it started getting fun. Dialed up Earth but didn’t go through. Radioed that the coast was clear for the troops to come on through. Then I "accidentally" disconnected the wormhole. And whoops, before I could redial, the gate was engaged and the troops started coming. You should have seen the gleam in Makepeace’s eye. He was in a killin’ kinda mood, I tell you what. He has a crush on you, you know," he said to Carter.

"Everybody has a crush on Carter," muttered Jackson. She punched him in the arm.

"What is a ‘crush’?" asked Teal’c. 

Jackson scrunched up his face. "Oh, you know, kind of loves, sort of, but not really?"

"Oh, _that’s_ a good definition," said Carter. "Can we please get back to the story?"

"We kind of do a half-hearted attack at first. Not really trying. We get close to the pyramid, then I slip inside to look for Daniel. As soon as I’m in, the troops fall back like we’re on the run, which of course distracts them and made Pakur relax. It took me forever to find Danny. I mean I looked for hours. When I finally did - and oh God, what a mess he was - we lowered the boom on them. I mean wrath of God time. You would be amazed how many troops General Hammond can get together when he really wants to. So I’m trying to decide what to do about Daniel - I mean forget Pakur, the kid was in real trouble - but he’s arguing with me. He’s like got this plan to get the bastard. I couldn’t believe it!" Jackson smiled shyly. "And the plan worked. It was ridiculously easy, actually. He all but walked in and said ‘Shoot me.’ Then I stuck Daniel in the sarcophagus and the rest everybody knows."

After a little break to absorb Jack’s story and ask questions to fill in more blanks, it was Daniel’s turn. He held a bottle of beer and rotated it slowly between his hands as he spoke. He stared into the fire. "It’s hard to talk about," he finally began. "Pakur was…incredibly sick. Cruel even for a goa’uld. I was so wrong - so foolish to turn myself over to him, because I really had no idea what I was getting into." He paused for a sip. The fire popped and crackled. No one said a word. "I thought he would ask me where the boy was. I thought I would eventually be forced to tell him what I knew. But I kind of expected he would think I was lying and be so angry he’d kill me." He shook his head. "I was completely wrong. He wanted to know what I knew, of course, but then he bragged that he was going to…keep me. Show me off like some kind of…trophy to the other system lords. And force me to help him find the boy." He blinked. "I have no doubt I would have." Carter put her hand on his shoulder. He started, then smiled at her, patting her hand. "The strange thing is that he hadn’t even gotten to asking about the boy yet. At first he was only interested in beating the shit out of me. Which he had a real talent for, I assure you. I mean you know I’ve run into some real experts, but this guy -" he shuddered. "New standard. Then it got bad." O’Neill raised his brows. _Worse?!_

"He wanted to know what the attack plan was, because you had succeeded in distracting him. So he - questioned me. Of course I didn’t have a clue, but that just…encouraged him." Jackson’s face tightened for a moment and he took a couple of deep breaths. "Eventually he realized that he’d gone too far so it was time for a sarcophagus makeover. I, uhhh, freaked out. So he figured out I have this little addiction problem. Decided it would be fun to make me beg. Crawl in there myself or whatever. Stuck me in the room with it. It was pretty bad." His voice trailed off. O’Neill didn’t want to hear anymore. His throat felt tight. His eyes were stinging. He had to move or explode. He spent the next few minutes adding more wood to the fire, jabbing at it viciously with the poker, causing sprays of sparks with each thrust, and pacing around the room. Finally he threw himself into a chair and slumped down. Stared at Jackson. Jackson smiled a little, understanding perfectly.

"He was such an arrogant bastard. He just knew I’d give up and crawl into the sarcophagus. And it was so hard. I wanted it so bad. I mean I - _really_ \- wanted it. But I made up my mind not to. Even if I died. It was hard even to let Jack put me in it." All eyes went to him. 

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Gave me quite a little argument."

Jackson continued. "They’d come by every now and then, kick me a few times, and leave. But then Jack finally got there - nick of time, I think. Pakur was so arrogant I doubt he had even posted a guard outside my door. Well, I couldn’t have gone anywhere anyway…but where he put me was his undoing. The transport rings were there and I knew when things got dicey, he have to come in order to escape to his ship. We just had to be patient." He shrugged. "Worked out great. He came in, Jack blew him away. And his little dog Toto, too."

"A dog?" asked Teal’c. "This is most unusual for a goa’uld."

Everyone burst out laughing, lightening the mood. Jack suspected Teal’c had done it deliberately, and knew it when he saw the jaffa’s small, satisfied smile. He looked around. Life was right, once again. He wasn’t fooling himself. There was still a lot of work to do if he was to knit this team back together. And he and Daniel would be up a lot of sleepless nights. But now, finally, he started to let himself begin to believe it could happen. 

* * *

>   
> © November 24, 1999 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa’uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television,   
> Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd.   
> Partnership.  
> This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and   
> solely meant for entertainment.   
> All other characters, the story idea and the story itself   
> are the sole property of the author.   
> 

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##### If you haven’t seen or read a summary of FIAD you may have a little trouble understanding some things. This story came from Daniel’s comment to Sam and Jack in his apartment about leaving and going as far away as he could get. It assumes that the episode FIAD went the same way, otherwise.

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